


Old Habits

by MaxWrite



Series: Kink Bingo 2011-2012 [3]
Category: Fringe
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just one more visit won't hurt. Walter can walk away in the end. He has to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Habits

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for _Novation_ , season 4, episode 5. Deviates from the scene it is based on. Written for [Kink Bingo](http://kink_bingo.dreamwidth.org). Kink: penance/punishment.

He stood at the door, waiting for the very serious gentleman in the nice suit to unlock it and let him inside. He did his best to hide his nervous fidgeting. Olivia may have declined Dr. Sumner's suggestion to have him readmitted to St. Claire's, but Walter was no fool. He knew he wasn't out of the woods yet. Any more major slip-ups, and it was back to the hospital with him. He couldn't afford another episode, and unfortunately if anything was going to send him over the deep end again, it was another meeting with an adult version of his dead son.

He'd nearly lost it the first time. It had taken everything Walter had to hold it together then as well as he had. Now, he wasn't even in the room yet and already he couldn't stop wringing his hands. Truth be told, he still wasn't entirely sure that this wasn't all a very elaborate hallucination.

What nobody knew, what nobody understood, was that Walter's previous hasty departure from Peter's cell hadn't been about anger or disbelief in the man's insistence of who he was. Far from it. It had been about panic, fear, and a deep, terrifying knowledge that the man had been telling the complete and honest truth. He was indeed an alternate version of Peter. Walter was sure of it. You didn't look into the eyes of your own child and not recognize them, no matter what universe they came from.

The door unlocked with a few loud clicks and swung open. He was lying on his cot, but sat up quickly and perched on the cot's edge as though ready to spring into action, get things done. That was Peter all right. Walter had to try not to smile, had to keep in mind where he was, why he'd come, who the person before him really was. This man, his face, his eyes were almost taunting Walter. _Remember that,_ Walter thought. There was nothing lighthearted about this visit.

But apparently no one told Peter this, because the way he sat up and looked at Walter, he seemed almost happy, or at least pleased. There was nothing somber about him. Hesitant perhaps, but not grave, not sad. His eyes were bright, warm, welcoming.

Walter swallowed down the lump that was rising in his throat. He felt like the air was suddenly too thick to breathe. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat to stop their fidgeting and finally remembered the little trinket he'd brought with him to help calm him. He wrapped his fist around the cold bit of metal he had stowed there in his right pocket, clutched it. The air thinned out a bit and seemed to go down more easily. Walter's mind cleared.

Why _was_ Peter so eager? Simply because he needed Walter's help and was relieved to have been afforded another chance to persuade him, surely. Yes, that was all that was, that light in this virtual stranger's eyes.

 _Remember that._

The door closed behind Walter and he slowly stepped forward, forcing himself to hold the younger man's gaze. Actually, he didn't have to try very hard. It was like looking into the window, the one he'd created to see the other side. Once you started looking, it was difficult to stop. You could stare all day, all night. You could waste your life watching. That was what this was; Walter was looking into something he shouldn't be and it was sucking him in.

The difference being that this was within immediate reach, which made it all the more dangerous. He could go closer if he wanted, maybe even touch. This Peter would allow that; he hadn't hesitated to touch before. Walter felt a bit like an alcoholic in a bar; how was he supposed to resist?

He stopped a few feet away from where Peter sat, hesitated. How to begin?

"Are they feeding you?" he finally asked.

Peter smiled and nodded. "Yeah." He then sobered a bit. "Walter, I know how strange this all is, how hard it must be for you, but I don't know what to do. Nobody remembers me here. Olivia looks at me like I'm a stranger, like she's afraid of me."

Such a curious statement. So few words that suggested so much. There was more in Peter's face, in his voice, when he spoke Olivia's name than when he talked about anything else. Walter didn't know whether to be pleased or defensive on Olivia's behalf. He felt a little of both; this Peter was still a stranger, after all.

"I know what you're capable of," Peter went on. "I need your help, Walter. To fix this."

This was dangerous indeed, looking into those eyes. For a moment, Walter rethought the purpose of his visit. His eyes stung with moisture and, despite his better judgment he began to close the gap between him and Peter. He needed to be closer, just for a moment. Just a second wouldn't hurt.

Peter's eyes were as focused on him as his were on Peter. That hopeful look returned as Walter drew nearer, and as Walter's hands reached out, seemingly of their own will, Peter didn't shy away, didn't even flinch. He let Walter come close and touch. He even smiled as Walter felt the stubble on his jaw, and Walter thought how strange it was that his son had stubble, was a tall, broad-shouldered adult. How positively novel.

For the moment, nothing else mattered. There was only this. Walking away now seemed absurd, and it seemed that Peter felt the same, that all he wanted was for this to be real, to happen, to stay.

"Everyday for the past twenty-five years," Walter murmured, "I've tried to imagine what you would look like as a man. My son." He wanted to unload his soul, pull this Peter in his arms and hold on. He very nearly did. But that wasn't why he'd come.

"But I don't deserve this," he added, his smile fading, his hands dropping away from Peter's face. Sadness welled up in his chest at the way Peter's face changed, the hopeful, loving look morphing into panic. Walter's chest twinged with the sort of guilt and longing that came with denying a child something they needed. He began to back away. "I don't deserve you. I realize now this is my punishment. You were sent here to tempt me, to see if I would repeat the mistakes of the past. You shouldn't be here."

"Walter, _no_ ," Peter said, his jaw tense, his gaze determined and even frightened. His arm shot out, hand reaching for Walter. Walter was just far enough away now that he couldn't be reached, at least not physically. The fact was, Peter may as well have gotten a vice-grip on Walter's coat sleeve, because seeing that hand stopped Walter dead.

A chill went through him and he tried not to shiver. He tried to stave off the images that were creeping into his mind, images of cold, gray ice stretching out across the ground, cracking, opening up and swallowing his boy - or _a_ boy. That boy hadn't really been his. But the outstretched hand that had been the very last thing Walter would see descending into icy darkness had a grip on his heart anyway. It didn't matter whose son that hand belonged to. And it didn't matter whose son this one belonged to either. The pain was the same.

Peter's eyes were more frightened now than panicked, more needy than determined. He was just a boy, floating away, being left behind. Again. He lowered his hand.

"Walter, you don't understand," he said. "I need you. Don't …" He paused, jaw muscles twitching. His gaze fell. "Walter, please," he said, his voice a low, soft rasp.

Walter couldn't bear that, the sound of distress in his son's voice. Every instinct was screaming at him, some telling him to flee again, but even more were begging him to go to Peter.

He was almost surprised when his left foot shifted forward. It scraped the floor and the noise caught Peter's ear, making him look up. He seemed almost shocked to see Walter still standing there. A hint of hope returned to his eyes.

"You shouldn't be here," Walter whimpered.

"I know," Peter assured him with the kind of quiet deliberateness that suggested he was afraid any sudden _anything_ would send Walter running from the room. Still, his words began tumbling out faster as he spoke, trying to be heard before it was too late. "I don't understand it either," he said. "But we can solve this. You and me, together. I can't do it alone, Dad, I need you."

Walter shut his eyes, his breaths quivering as he fought to keep composure. Peter, _this_ Peter, hadn't called him that before. Dad. It was too much.

He was wringing his hands and once again remembered what he had in his pocket. He hastily plunged his hand into it, fished out the memento, held it so tight it dug into his palm.

"Maybe you should sit," Peter suggested. Walter opened his eyes. Peter was still watching him with concern and nervousness and just a hint of fear. His eyes kept darting down to Walter's fist now, no doubt wanting to see what was in it. Which only made Walter wonder. It couldn't hurt to show him.

Walter slowly opened his hand and let Peter see the coin lying on his palm.

"It's something of a security blanket," he explained, "very likely the only reason I haven't yet fled this room." Which was only half true. He was still there mainly because his son so clearly needed him. But he wasn't about to say that.

He was almost afraid of what Peter's reaction might be. Would he recognize the coin, or not? Walter wasn't sure which he wanted more. As much as he longed, foolishly longed to connect with this Peter, the prospect terrified him. His feet were constantly one second away from spinning him around and carrying him out to safety.

But the moment he saw recognition on Peter's face and a smile tugging at the corners of Peter's mouth, he knew he wasn't going anywhere.

"You still have it," Peter said, reaching out to touch. He immediately realized he was jumping the gun, however, and paused, hand in mid-air. He looked up at Walter's face, uncertain, checking. Walter swallowed hard and gave him a nod.

Peter plucked the coin from Walter's hand and instantly began flipping it over the backs of his fingers, exactly the way he'd done as a boy. Walter smiled as he lowered his hand.

"You remember," he said, his voice breaking just slightly.

Peter smiled. "Old habits die hard." He stopped flipping the coin and looked up at Walter again, eyes bright, smile soft. "You really think you're being punished? That I was sent here to test you?"

Walter considered his answer before finally stepping forward and gingerly taking a seat at Peter's side. He clasped his hands in his lap and tried to keep them still as he met Peter's eyes. "If I help you, if I try as I so desperately want to, I fear …" He paused to choke back the lump again. "I fear something terrible may happen. Just as before. At the lake."

"But Walter, I _didn't_ drown. The fact that I'm sitting here now should be proof enough that things don't have to end badly. Bizarrely, maybe, but not necessarily badly."

Walter shook his head. "They may for me if I once again give in and choose the wrong path. I shouldn't even be speaking to you now." He glanced around the room, checking the ceiling as though he thought lightning might come crashing through to strike Peter down.

"Well, unless we can figure out where I belong, I think I'm stuck here, so …" Peter sighed. "Am I keeping you from something?"

"No," Walter said quickly, looking at him again. "No, you're not."

Peter smiled. "You seem so afraid of me. Though I guess I can't really blame you."

Walter said nothing.

"You looked less afraid a moment ago, when you touched my face. You looked peaceful, even. Calm. And the world didn't implode, right? When you touched me."

Walter shook his head.

"You shot outta here so fast when I grabbed your hand during your first visit, I thought maybe you were afraid that contact with me might rip a hole in the time-space continuum or something."

"Oh. No, that wasn't it. Although … admittedly that did cross my mind." Walter's eyes shiftily scanned the room again.

"I shouldn't have been so aggressive before, and I apologize for that. I was treating you like the Walter I know. But you're not him."

If this Peter realized that, then maybe it wasn't the worst thing in the world to stay and talk. Walter was well aware this Peter was different and that he was very likely going back to wherever he belonged at some point. Well, he'd known that back then, too. Twenty-five years ago. Maybe that Peter had perished because deep down, in his heart, Walter had known he wouldn't have been able to give that Peter back.

But this Peter was an adult, had free will. He knew he didn't belong here. He could go when it was time. And surely he would. The way he'd spoken of Olivia, it was clear this Peter had much to get back to. Maybe that was enough. Maybe the lesson was in the letting go, not in avoiding them altogether.

Walter wasn't agreeing to help. He knew very well that he had no business doing that. He only wanted to talk. Or even just sit in silence for a while. He could let this Peter go in the end. If he had to. Because this Peter wasn't his. And wasn't it fitting that Walter should have to let go again? It was what he deserved, after all. Perhaps Peter would continue to drop into his life at random to test Walter's resolve and then disappear again. Over and over. It made sense. Walter wasn't meant to keep his son, and because it had taken him so long to figure that out, his punishment would continue. He had a lot of years of stubbornness to make up for. Perhaps his penance was only just beginning.

"Did that upset you?" Walter asked. "When I touched your face?"

Peter shook his head. "No. It was nice, actually. This may surprise you, but I don't get a whole lotta cuddle time in this place." He put the coin down on the cot, then looked at Walter's hands and reached out for one, checking Walter's face to make sure it was okay. Walter made no attempt to pull away as Peter grasped his hand, though he noted that the air seemed to once again take on the viscosity of marmalade.

"You know, I'm not the most affectionate guy in the world," Peter said. Walter wasn't sure why he'd said it as he then raised Walter's hand to his face and placed it against his cheek. Perhaps he'd needed to clarify that this type of bonding wasn't something he normally did with the Walter he'd known. Well, he was doing it now, that was what mattered. He was in a bizarre and frightening situation; he no doubt needed this as much as Walter did.

Walter stopped trying to breathe the thick air as he let his fingers explore Peter's face. He superimposed his mental image of child-Peter's face over that of adult-Peter, lined up the features as he touched them. First the nose as he drew a line across its bridge, then the forehead as he traced the worry line between the brows. Walter smiled.

"You get that from me, I'm afraid," he said, finding his breath once more. "This premature line. I do apologize for that."

Peter grinned, a full, toothy smile. It was lovely to see, lovely to touch when child-Peter smiled too and Walter's fingertips grazed across both of them. And all at once Walter knew that he should have left the room when he'd attempted to earlier. Because he was a weak man, a flawed man. Because pushing boundaries and tempting fate had never been things he'd shied away from. Because he was being drawn in again, and it felt wonderful. Startlingly, frighteningly wonderful.

Peter let Walter hug him. He let Walter kiss his cheek, stroke and smell his hair. He let Walter hold on for a while. And just like that, Walter knew there was nothing he could deny this Peter. His son. Old habits die hard.

END


End file.
